


bears and wet boots

by grab_n_growl



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Weather, Begging, Bonding, Cock(y)TM John, Confessions, Drinking, Frottage, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Pining Arthur, Praise, Pre-Canon, Rutting, Sexual Content, all good plot devices, and a bear, handjobs, pinch of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grab_n_growl/pseuds/grab_n_growl
Summary: " I ain't catchin' a cold for this. And neither are you, can't afford it, clothes off. "It isn't request and yet, something about the words rolling off his tongue made him glad for the darkness cast over his body, the chill settled in his body and the red-orange glow of the flames to play off of the rosettes spiraling in the highs of his cheekbones. What a fool,a fool, a fool. Why was this sodifficult?-" If you wanted me to take my clothes off, you coulda' just asked nicely. "Excuse me?





	bears and wet boots

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Helkavana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helkavana/gifts).



> This is a combined finished request for Helkavana and C! I hope you guys enjoy your content c:

Now, it had been a long time since Arthur had called John a goddamn idiot- longer than usual. Enough he'd begun to get a little _nervous_ because the wild, lanky wolf had kept his snout out of trouble for a few good weeks. Enough that the cowboy considered that perhaps, _just maybe,_ that he'd learnt his lesson of how _not_ to try to get attention.  
  
Lofty goals, a dream far too _big_ for his own head.  
  
_Should've known better._

 

" God _damnit, Marston._ "  


 

Should've known better than to wish for something _impossible._ For here the two of them were, scrambling up the side of a _mountain_ in the _pouring rain_ because their horses had gotten _spooked_ by the goddamn _bear_ that John had been too arrogant, too _inexperienced_ in challenging to an _arms' race_ in the middle of a _storm_ because he wanted _a new blanket_ out of the fur. How did it come to this? Honestly, Arthur already knew the answer to that. Because if John was an idiot, he was an absolute _fool_ for letting himself be dragged along like a corpse under train-track spindles, rolled in all manners of _shit_ at all times. As much as he liked to snap his teeth and spit insult, between the two of them, Arthur was the worst for  _letting it all happen, every time._ For being weak to those hard, dark eyes that would squint up at him like he had something to _prove,_ patchy stubble that the artist's fingers itched to properly shave for him. You'd imagine John would've caught up to the times that looking and acting like a rabid animal was no longer in-season, but here they were.

Every _time, every goddamn time._

Arthur ended up here, hauling ass across virgin forests that might've once been peaceful if it weren't for John's lean, slicked body racing alongside him, panting breaths _heaving_ into the air like smoke as they ran. In the claps of thunder and streaking fingers of electric lightning, the cowboy could just see over his shoulder at the black, lumbering form that had yet to give up pursuit in search of easier prey. Goddamn _bears._

 

" Ain't my fault I picked a hungry one! "

 

_Really?_

He didn't have the energy to argue for it, not now. Not when a looming grey of slab slate swarmed in his vision, intimidating and _dangerous,_ gleaming with the wet of the rain's film across it. A cliffside? _Really?_ Arthur's luck just kept getting better and _better_ and he could only manage a roar through clenched teeth to efficiently express his rage given his current amount of oxygen in his lungs, burning in his chest alongside his throbbing heartbeat. They had to get up, _had to get up-_

 

" _Hurry up-_ "

 

Looked to see the wily fellow leaping with all the confidence of a three-pound kitten attempting to clear the space from one of those fancy, silk-woven couches to those old, laminated coffee tables he'd only every see in hotels and in the rooms of the various mansions he'd robbed. Like the world was his _oyster,_ and part of him, the part he tried desperately to kill, found in a minute moment how  _amusing_ it was. But the danger, the fact that their very lives hung by a thread, kept him from falling prey to his own trapping thoughts. He was so used to being the  _predator_ amongst the people, the _wolf in sheep's clothing,_ that a scenario like this felt head-spinningly _wrong._

Felt his fingertips _burn_ when the callouses scrabbled at slick pebble and stone, dragging his thrashing body up the side of the cliff, damn near slipping off the edge before he could even get his elbows up to steady himself. Constantly felt hot, uncomfortable breath at his heels, threatening and _present_ and it all felt inescapable. Was this really how he was going to die? Watching John spray rock shavings everywhere with the panicked rasping of his boots, spurs running stark-white line scars into the boulders he desperately scaled. Body nothing but a black, thin figure hanging above his head, scrambling for purchase along the jagged cracks-

 

" _Arthur._ "

 

Feels his nails  _crack_ at the same time familiar palms wrap around the bone and muscle of his wrists, hard-pressed and _breaking_ and yet it is that bruising grip that pulls him up the rest of the way. Feels the pure _heat_ of John's temperature spindling from the tips of his fingers where they grasp against his wet body, clothes stuck to his skin, and its like a _brand._ Why? _When?_ When had his thoughts turned this way? Had fallen down the rabbit hole, one he so desperately tried to dig out of and yet, when he looked up-

Saw those dark, _dark eyes_ staring down at him, black hair falling in rainswept-silk tangles across his forehead in mesmerizing spirals, brows furrowed and maw moving, moonlight just catching at the edges of his canines-

 

" _Christ_ , Arthur, you alright? "

 

No. He's not.

But for a different reason, and despite the feeling of a cold dagger dragging its smooth surface teasingly across the arteries of his heart, an ever-present _threat,_ he feels he cannot escape it. Doesn't particularly _want to._ Not when John is staring down at him like he's holding the world in his hands, like he's someone that _matters,_ like if Arthur died today, it would break his heart. When he shifts, he can feel those fingers curl into _claws_ against his soaked shirt, curving pleasant into his nerves and he is thankful he can pass off the _shiver_ up his spine to the frigid cool of the rain falling down around them. It takes a long, lingering moment for John to let him go and he tries so hard, _so hard,_ to keep the terrible plodding of his own heart at-bay. Now wasn't the time, _it wasn't._

The bear snarled and roared beneath their feet, claws scrapping a whining, sharp noise against the stones, and Arthur muses how its tempested nature is like both he and John. Wild, untamed, cacophonous and a picture of _strength-_

Little did he know that as he rasped a dismissive wave, that the wolf was staring at him just like that.

Shaking the reddened haze from his vision, the artist loped away from the edge of the rock face, growling and grumbling beneath his breath as he _paced,_ frustrated and _tired._ Because it was _wonderful_ to be stuck _out here_ in the cold, drenched and out-of-breath and without the possibility of their horses running into Timbuktu to rescue them. No, all they had were their shivering legs and beating hearts and heaving lungs and their satchels wrapped around their hips, pistols glinting hard in the bare sliver of moonlight that dared to show its face through the rolling storm clouds hanging over their heads.

 

" Aw, _shit, John._ The hell were you _thinkin'?_ "

 

Turns, fury returned, in all his rage, back towards the man he'd left behind him. Rounds on him with a spit and a hiss, teeth bared and glinting and _sharp,_ clacking hard together on every stressed syllable. Hardly listens to any kind of lame excuse the man can come up with now, inches from death and still shuddering with it-

 

" Hey, you said you'd come huntin' with me, _you said_ we could track a bear ourselves- "

 

Arthur decides that is the moment to throw his hands up in the air, roaring to rival the black bear that had lumbered off when she'd seen there was no way to haul her body up after her irritating prey. Sprays smoke into the air, hot like boiling water, as the clatter of lightning across their faces grapples shards over his skin and illuminating his blue eyes into a _blaze,_

 

" I goddamn know what I _said, damnit._ What I _didn't say_ was to piss off every predator for miles around with ya' yellin' and goadin' it on to _chase us!_ You coulda gotten us both killed! And for what? For some... some _pelt_ you could get from ona' those trading posts? It ain't worth it, _boy._ "

 

Simmers in space, fists clenched hard and _burning_ at his flanks, shoulders broad and squared as though he's preparing for a fight that he knew was going to come. Bracing for it, _ready for it,_ because he needed to be. Always needed to be with _John,_ the lanky wolf who didn't know his own strength, who didn't know his own _limits,_ and yet went along happy as a clam to _never know._ To live his life in blissful _ignorance-_

 

" Shit, Arthur! I wasn't gonna let nothin' happen to _you!_ Was just tryin' to draw it outta the trees so you'd get a better _shot,_ I damn well know it was _dangerous._ But you coulda hit it a lot faster than you did! Didn't want it too close to you when we went _in for it!_ "

 

The snap, the rise of temper, spit back at him was expected and yet, the words were _not._ The content was _new._ Had never heard it before, not like this, not with their chests heaving with their shared panicked adrenaline slowly draining their bodies until nothing was left but cramping, shivering muscles and cold skin and fragile minds. Something about John's _tone_ makes him choke on his own saliva in his throat, staring dead at the man in front of him, just a shadow until the fleeting moments of light dappled across his skin into bursting blues and hardened, _open_ features.

 

_ do you know what love makes us do? _

 

Arthur fell silent for a second too long, just long enough that he can see John's expression _change_ into something unreachable, closed-off, and quiet like a petulant dog he'd swatted at one too many times. There is nothing he can do except to mutter unintelligent mumbles into the dripping lapels of his collared shirt, spinning on his heel and trudging through the trees. Doesn't wait for the man behind him, doesn't pause when he calls out a bark of confusion and _demand._

 

_ makes you stupid. _

 

What else could they _do?_

Damn well couldn't stay out here, that was for certain.

He was downright _miserable_ and this was _not_ how he was expecting his Wednesday night to be and yet, here he was, stomping through the woods with rainwater filling his boots to the brim, every part of him soggy and uncomfortable and _heated._ Could see steam rising from his own mouth with every pant- knew if he looked back at John, who'd reluctantly followed him, he'd see the same. Didn't do it, didn't turn, because he knew if he did, he could focus far too much on _him._ On his _everything,_ and the wet cloth did nothing to help him in any way.

Arthur couldn't afford that, not now. When they would eventually tumble back into camp, disheveled and in desperate need of baths, then he would retire to his lonesome, mournful journal to pour out his thoughts and feelings upon the paper he had long since made very clear that _no one_ was allowed to touch. Then, _then,_ he would sketch the thin lines of John's figure plastered with black, his grown-in muscles outlined by the stark material, abdomen shifting solid with every _gasp_ into the air as they hiked further up the cliffside. Would shade in the shadows of his drawn face, the curves of his lips, the downward focus of those keen, sparkling black eyes- the way his hair dripped down his forehead and lay flat against his throat.

What would it be like to _wipe it away?_

_No, no, not the time._

 

" Here. Get in. "

 

The rocky overhang crown wasn't much, but it was _enough,_ and enough was all dirty outlaws like them needed to survive. The bare minimum of essentials was all they required to keep going, to fester like cockroaches the government _couldn't get rid of._ And Arthur was struck with an amusing, deprecating image of John with the body of a raccoon, scurrying off of a boat and into the horizon with all the officials' moneybags thrown over his shoulders. 

 

_ no, no, arthur, you think too pessimistically. _

 

Damn, he really was a _fool,_ wasn't he?

Doesn't bite back when John rumbles complaints under his breath, shuffling as far as he can beneath the stones, pressing himself into the corner of the wall. Damp and dark, _wonderful._ But it couldn't be _too bad,_ right? They could've lost all their limbs in a fist-fight with a bear, _right?_ Yes. But Arthur was still quite furious about that possibility that had been very narrowly avoided by the skin of their teeth, if the way he roughly shrugged off his soggy jacket and satchel to fall in a wet lump on the ground was anything to go by. Shook cracks out of his shoulders as he carefully hung his own coat in the entryway, blocking most of the tempest winds and rain shockfall.

Didn't notice John _staring at him._ Or, if he did, he didn't say anything, and simply chalked it up to the feral creature watching him do all the _work-_

So Arthur turned sharp eyes upon the man huddled in the corner, slick fingers gesturing aimlessly to the middle of the cave, and spoke through clenched teeth, jaw shifting open just enough to _spit_ the words out,

 

" Fire. _Now._ "

 

Energy _crackled_ between them, sizzled like open flesh meat cooking against metal grating, and the great show of a staring contest was enough to make any bystander's hackles _crawl_ with discomfort and squirm with the _threat_ laden heavy and thick on the tongue in the cramped space. By whatever luck, it would seem that they had both tired themselves out far too much for any true fight, _not tonight._ Later, _surely,_ they would return to the conversation. For now, John simply sulked across the ground, kicking through dusty leaves and pebbles like a scolded child, and Arthur turned brisk away to avoid the beat of his own heart that seemed to want to envelope him in a _tidal wave._

_It hurt._

Hadn't he learnt his lesson _yet?_

Time and time again, how he kept falling. He wasn't supposed to. Was supposed to be Dutch's _lead enforcer,_ his  _lieutenant,_ his _hunting hound and yet,_ he found himself weak in the face of his own feelings. The journals he kept were life-savers, but they could not substitute for everything, and sometimes no matter how many times you scribbled and scrawled and ripped letters into overworked pages, the feelings _remained._

He wished they _wouldn't._

 

_ what the hell else does it do, then? _

 

Wished they would _go away._ Alas, Arthur couldn't escape from his own mind, no matter how many times he'd tried in the past, and considering they were bunked in a cave in the middle of nowhere, he imagined keeping his brain active was worth the pain this time. It was a shoddy fire pit that John had made, but it made the best of what they had- which was nothing. It flamed into existence, weak as it was, and that was good enough. Not, however, entirely helpful considering their _clothes._ Drenched and soaked through as they were, the cloth was nothing but heavy, bone-chilling weight that set them both to _shivering_ and they just couldn't afford to get sick now.

Not when they're on the move so much with the others, with Dutch and Hosea and Abigail and Javier and Mac and Davey and Ms. Grimshaw. 

Couldn't afford wasting money they didn't have on medicine they couldn't find anyway.

 

" The hell are you doin'? "

 

John's voice is a sharp cascade over his barren shoulders, rasping thick in his throat like he'd had one too many shots of whiskey, dried and crackled. It beckoned hardly but a grumbled noise from Arthur, too busy working the rest of the buttons of his favorite blue shirt, slipping the fabric off his shoulders alongside the top of his union suit. Damp, but not drenched, fortunately. Cold as all hell though, and that was the worse part as he carefully laid his clothes out flat against the ground. Haggard a look through blonde hair in his eyes, regretted it immediately at the way the fire _flickered_ warm and soft around the man's features,

 

" I ain't catchin' a cold for this. And neither are you, can't afford it, clothes off. "

 

It isn't request and yet, something about the words rolling off his tongue made him glad for the darkness cast over his body, the chill settled in his body and the red-orange glow of the flames to play off of the rosettes spiraling in the highs of his cheekbones. What a fool, _a fool, a fool._ Why was this so _difficult?-_

 

" If you wanted me to take my clothes off, you coulda' just asked nicely. "

 

_Excuse me?_

  
Arthur can feel his own fingers _freeze_ from where they'd begun to shuffle off his jeans, feeling a terrifying, depth-defying _drop_ swoop through his stomach like his heart had become a frantic hummingbird desperate for an escape from a cage. It hurts, _it hurts,_ and the breath he takes in feels like the shudder of a camera, branding the moment into the back of his skull and in the whites of his eyes for the rest of eternity. _Why?_ Why was John acting like this? Fingers slithering _slow_ and _languid_ over his own chest from across the fire, plucking buttons off like he had all the time in the world and was in hardly any rush to free himself from the soggy freeze. 

It's like a _tease_ and Arthur doesn't have the patience for it.

 

" You're a fuckin' _idiot, Marston._ "

 

Turns away before his lips and tongue can spit anything _stupid_ out, and peels the rest of his jeans off of his body, grimacing at the unpleasant wetness in the cotton beneath against his skin. Damn, they really did mess up this time, didn't they? 

 

_ my dear boy, it makes you dream _

 

Doesn't dare turn around, busies himself with sliding the top half of his union suit off of his body, the weak glow of the fire just barely warming his skin from the angle. If he focused, _focused,_ he could feel its steady, gentle palms splaying against the broad strokes of muscles across his back, massaging comforts into the frayed nerves. Feels better, _feels better,_ until he is confronted with the very-real sensation of being _watched._ Couldn't have a moment to his own thoughts, huh? Shoulda' known. _Shoulda' known._

It's quiet between them when they settle together, Arthur as aloof and detached and _rough_ as he always is. Unwilling to bend, to break, to be _flexible_ in what he felt when he'd come to settle by the fire and seen John settled there, chest bare and reddened union suit pouring like ribbon-blood from around his hips, useless and cold. Watching him, _watching Arthur,_ with those blackened eyes flickering with a _strange_ look in their depths, the flames dancing like too-curious bees buzzing and swarming around his head. Why? _Why was he looking at him like that?_ It wasn't the first time. Wasn't the first time he'd caught the younger  _staring_ when he was changing in his tent, like he was beckoning for their eyes to meet in the moment. Like he wanted Arthur to feel _his fingers_ instead of his own when he fondled fresh wounds and gunshots and bruises. Or, perhaps, it is simply the artist's thoughts getting away from him, a runaway stead or a train with no breaks.

That sounded more _probable.  
_

 

" Arthur. "

 

 

Ah, just as he'd been hoping for some _peace and quiet..._

 

" ... _Arthur._ "

It took all of his effort not to _growl_ when his head shifted to peer, accusatory and dark, through the bangs of his drying hair at the man near him. _Near him._ A few feet away, but it all feels so much  _closer_ in the cramped little space they'd managed to squeeze themselves in. Feels his own fingers curl into his palms, kneading the flesh with careful consideration, callouses dragging as he muttered through his teeth,

 

" _What._ "

 

Another stretch of silence, and Arthur was _so damn close_ to reaching across, fire be damned, to _strangle_ the stupid man to death when the voice spoke again, rasping quiet and _shivery,_

 

" I'm cold. "

 

Oh, for _fuck's sake-_

 

" So? "

 

And what, pray tell, was Arthur supposed to do about that? Every _second_ that inched by _preyed_ on his already-frazzled nerves, digging like a thorn in the side of an ornery bear who'd woken up far too early from its hibernation. John walked a fine, _fine tightrope_ to be speaking to him now- but everyone knew he had hardly a sense of self-preservation. Had no interest in his own life, in keeping it _in existence,_ so the cowboy mused moodily that it was fitting the wolf would just _keep yapping,_

 

" Well shit, Arthur. I've got the only blanket. I can see you shiverin' too, don't bother to fight it. Come sit with me. "

 

Who said? _Who said?_ So what if his hands felt like ice in their fists, so what if his toes had long since gone numb, so what if he couldn't feel his legs anymore and every shift of breath shifted his damp union suit cold and sticky and unforgiving against his skin, dragging unpleasant shudders up his spine. _So what?_ Didn't make him _weak,_ and it certainly didn't inspire any form of wish to _cuddle_ with the stupid idiot who'd gotten them in this mess in the _first place-_

Although... looking over at him, John looked so... _small._ Curled up amongst himself, lean limbs gangly and far more muscled than he last remembered them being, the fleece of the small woolen blanket they'd managed to save from being water-logged. The only thing dry between them and Arthur had made no claim on it- had kept as far away as possible until _now,_ trapped and cold, with nowhere to run. Hesitates, _hesitates,_ at the look being sent his way. Blackened eyes peered _young_ and _tired_ beneath the wisps of his hair, mouth downturned in that unhappy, displeased scowl he always seemed to wear. For a brief moment, Arthur wondered what his face would look like with  _scars._ He didn't have any yet, not from what the stag could see- not like the ones that marred his own face, but he still _wondered._

_Beat. Beat. Beat._

Doesn't move until John rolled his eyes and _growled,_ shifting and pushing up from the ground. Crowded into Arthur's _space,_ leaving not an inch of breath for himself, as he settled skin warmer than his against his flank, gasping ragged and somewhat _sympathetically_ at the miserable, clammy state of the older's body. Lacking the blood-flush hue of a _human,_ looked more like a particularly-muscled _corpse,_ and perhaps that was why the wolf had taken pity on him. Why there were hands convincing his to open, pressing palms together and rubbing friction against callouses, trying to bring life back into Arthur's stagnated, stiff fingers. Why the welcome fringes of the blanket were tossed over his bare shoulders and he's pulled, _pulled,_ into John's embrace and he is _frozen_ in more ways than one.

At how John looks like this is nothing new, nothing special, even as his mouth lowers to blow on the cowboy's fingers in his hands, keen to keep his blood flowing. Like it hasn't been _years_ since the last time they'd been pressed together like this for warmth of any kind, when they were both much younger and John was the scaredy-cat who climbed into his older brother's cot for some kind of _peace._

_Silence._

_Too quiet,_ especially for someone like him to _not protest._ Arthur plays it off well but he can _taste it, the curiosity,_ lining John's form at how  _complacent_ he'd been in getting to this spot. And the cowboy wondered if he looked as weak as he felt- if the other man could _see into him._ Deep into his heart, shriveled and pained beneath the bone of his sternum, beating just enough to keep him alive and for nothing else. Would see the little sliver of a place set aside just, _just,_ for the younger. Wondered if John could _see it._ Could see every thought, every feeling he'd ever had, with them pressed together like this. Could he? Would he be disgusted? Wronged? Turn him away, like everyone else in his life had, and leave him on the streets where someone like him belonged? Act like it was alright? Like nothing was _wrong with it?_ Let Arthur down _easy,_ in fear of shattering him the rest of the way to smithereens- a fast track currently, considering their recent robbery routines and recklessness.

  
But he knew John, had known him for years. And when he fished out a few bottles of moonshine from his satchel with a twinkling glare to his eyes, Arthur couldn't imagine anything _more John_ than that. Mischievous,  _annoying beyond belief,_ and yet it made him _so fond._ Somehow talked him into accepting a bottle, taking a rough swig without a single twitch to his facial muscles and fighting the smile at John's _hesitation,_ at the twisted purse to his lips at the painful _burn,_ and his grumbles about the stag being _too much a stone for his own good._

No, he was just as stone as he needed to be. It was what kept him alive, helped him _survive,_ and he had no inclination to change it. Not now, _not ever._ So many people had told him of his _jagged edges,_ like he didn't know about them already. Asked him to be _different._ To be _something else_ other than who he was. But John... didn't do that. Didn't ask him to be different, and maybe thats why Arthur was here now? Had come out here in the first place? Because he was desperate, _starving,_ for time alone with someone who wouldn't look at him and see _all the things they wanted to change._

Maybe that was why he let his guard down, lets himself get drunk as a damn skunk, until the two of them are sputtering and laughing over absolutely nothing. Speaking in tongues and giggles, things the other can hardly understand but they _don't have to._ Doesn't have to make _sense._ It just has to _be,_ that was all that was needed-

 

" Boy, do you 'member... 'member that time Dutch threw ya' in the lake? "

 

Arthur _snorted_ at the bemoaned noise John made at the memory, leaning back against the stones pressed against his spine and growling through his teeth. Pressed fingers and palms clumsy to his eyes, bottle still grasped precariously in a hand, as he _snarled_ in a way that made the man's fingers _shiver_ around his own bottle,

 

" Oh, don't- don't _fuckin'... mention that!_ "

 

It had been a grand time, when John had been so averse to water that during his afternoon nap, the boys had devised a plan to get him out of his cot before he rotted the mattress straight through. They'd been holed up in some god-awful, creaky cabin in the middle of nowhere- exactly where it was _safest-_ and the pond near to them was clean and a welcome scenery change. So, of course, that's where they'd decided to christen their dear, _rabid, feral brother._ Had dragged him outside, still half-asleep, and it had taken Arthur and Javier both to hold him fast by the pebblebed. Oh, how he'd _struggled,_ skin hot and grease-slicked beneath Arthur's palms- until Dutch lavished a kick right to the inside of his knees, sending him sprawling with a push into the lake.

As he spit and scream, the rest of them decided to pile right in after him- it was rather fun, in all honesty, especially considering Arthur got to see him pout and beg to be let out of the water.

 

" Hey... _hey, you..._ you need ta' learn ta' swim, Marston. Ya' gotta... gotta start  _paddlin'._ "

 

When John turned the best glare he could muster through alcohol-glassy eyes, the cowboy spewed into laughter and fell back with him, shoulder-to-shoulder, bodies so tight that an inhale too sharp brought them flush together. How long had it been? Since they'd been _this close_? Privacy was a luxury in their lifestyle- they'd seen eachother naked far more times than should be healthy. But _together?_ Delicate hairs of their flanks brushing on every breath they took. _How long?_

 

_makes you wonder about all the wonderful things in life_

 

It feels _warm._ Feels _safe._ To be here, with John, even if they were half-naked and in the middle of nowhere trapped in a rainstorm and drunk as all hell. Seemed quite fitting for men like them, honestly. So relaxed and pulled beneath the heady scent of alcohol that he almost missed the grumbled by his ear,

 

" 'M not a kid- _kid_ anymore... call me _John._ "

 

 

It's like a whine and it makes a broad, wide smile break across Arthur's face, curling into his cheekbones when he turned to face the other and _god- John's head hurts to see it-_

 

" I'll call ya' _John... Marston,_ when ya' _earn it._ Learn ta' swim first... an' I might consider it. "

 

Watches John pout and dissolve into bad-tempered grumbles, slick and confused, swaying every time he didn't have the solid rock behind him to steady his body. It just tumbles Arthur into laughter again and again, bouncing off the walls until the other joins in and they're both breathless and tired, alcohol consumed slowly turning them on the fast road to _hell._ Everything was warm. _Warm._ Against his skin- John's skin, the fire, the bittersweet bile at the back of his throat, the burns chugging slow and languid like a lazy river in his veins. Somewhere, somehow, along the way, he'd begun to drift off. 

Off, _off..._

Who knew where he was going. Arthur never tended to remember much after he drank, especially something like the proofed _moonshine_ that John had managed to somehow sneak to them. Usually woke up with broken knuckles and bruises and glass in his hands, pains over his body, a black-eye forming. Smelled of smoke and blood and sweat, from running or fighting, he never really knew- but what was the difference? What did it _matter_ anyway? It didn't, not to him. It got there, however it got there, and that was that.

He was used to waking up with purple and blue and yellow branded into his skin.

What he _wasn't_ used to was his thoughts, the clouds hovering around his head, to feel so _hot._ So _warm. Tingled,_ in the tips of his fingers and into the curls of his toes. Felt awake and asleep all at once, caught in limbo, and he so briefly wondered if this was what _death_ felt like. Caught in the air, hovering and placid like a rag-doll. Is that what it was? Or was it the feeling of _electricity_ thrumming beneath his skin, throbbing in lazy, unmeasured _twinges._ It doesn't feel like it's coming from him and yet, _it is._ Must be, where else could it be coming from? Feels the pleasantness of it coil in his stomach, _lower-_ it wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up _hard_ after a night of drinking. It was terrible and painful and he usually never had the energy to try to get rid of it, instead simply feeling sorry for himself and letting it sadly plod its way into calming down on its own.

This one isn't. It isn't going away.

Just _intensifies,_ throbs and tingles between his _legs-_

Struggles his attention into drifting back to him, dragging his head back into the presence of his body, and manages to pry his eyes open. They're still here. _They're still here, of course._ Where else would they be? It was still dark. Still raining out, he could just hear it. The fire had dwindled, letting a chill lay in his bones, so _what-_

_Oh-_

_Oh my god-_

The tingling sensation finally has a _place,_ a _reason._ He can't turn his head, not with John's fingers tangled in his hair, tilting his skull to the side and _holding._ Keeps him complacent, keeps him _open,_ so that the man's lips can continue sucking deep purple bruises into his throat, teeth tracing the sensitive muscles and bursting veins. _Tongue_ is lavishing his skin in steady, slick circles, rasping against his exposed collarbones, kisses pressed to the hollow of his throat. And Arthur is _frozen, frozen in place._ Can't move, can't think, long enough that he becomes fully aware of what is going on just when John's teeth find purchase in the juncture of his shoulder and neck and _sucks,_ wringing a soft _noise_ from Arthur's lips that he didn't even realize his tongue was so loose to produce. Feels it _echoed back,_ against his own skin, when John shifts from where he's pressed his chest against Arthur's flank, murmuring a quiet _moan._

_What the fuck?_

_What the fuck?_

 

" _Marston,_ what... in the _hell... are you doing?_ "

 

 

God, he sounds _wrecked_ with panic, with alcohol, with sleep-rasp, with the sound of his own traitorous _arousal_ making his voice husky and throaty, hardly able to gasp it out with the teeth worrying his sensitive skin. It feels good, _it feels good-_

 

" Just... just _be quiet, Arthur._ "

 

_What?_

His hands come up, feeling the bottle that had somehow managed to hang off his knuckles even during his doze, dropping to the stoned ground with an echoing clatter. It sounds as loud as a gunshot in his ears, but it is _nothing_ compared to the feeling of John's hot breath against his cool body, rising the hairs at the back of his neck. It's a bad angle, he can't get his fingers to purchase against John's body to push him away, slipping _useless_ against cold skin. Can only _squirm_ with his sluggish muscles as the man simply digs into him _harder,_ canines prickling pleasant at the corner of his jaw. This wasn't... _this wasn't happening, was it?_

 

" Damnit, _Marston, you're drunk-_ "

 

Manages to hook a palm under John's throat, shoving him back- barely suppressing his own _shiver_ when the abrupt movement rips into his own skin, a red-purple mark blooming. It _hurts_ in the best of ways, and that's just what makes it _worse,_ when black eyes look for him and he's caught in the gaze. Caught staring at the lips panting in front of his own, misted puffs coiling out from the tongue, steam rising. _Caught_ in the look of open _hunger_ and a _serious focus_ like a predator having caught wind of its most-favorite _prey-_

 

" Not drunk enough. "

 

The meaning lays heavy and thick in the air, on their tongues, and Arthur _can't move._ Can't get away when John is leaning forward again- _can't move-_

 

_makes you feel whole, complete_

 

There are lips, chapped and warm, molding into his and he can feel his own heart _stop_ in his chest, the hummingbird in the cage of his ribs _stilling_ like it'd been shot. Feels the fingers wound in his hair  _tighten, shifting,_ to hold his head in place, thumbs steady and strong against the broad bones of his cheeks. It's a foreign feeling, masculine hands keeping him _stationary,_ and it takes him enough off-guard that Arthur can't shudder away from it. Doesn't _want to._ And that just makes it _worse._ Makes the hot-cold burn in his chest _painful_ and the noise that escapes him is in equal parts arousal and _suffering._

_Suffering_ for his mistakes.

_Suffering_ when John seems all-the-more emboldened by his lack of resistance, of the fact he'd _managed_ to get the big cowboy off-guard, and takes full advantage of his position. Grabs blonde locks again, pulls the skull back to bear the throat he'd been working on early, and _sinks_ his teeth right into Arthur's collarbone. Traces the muscles cording his chest, down, _down,_ and the stag is helpless to do much of anything but to _gasp_ as a slick, thick tongue circled one of his nipples. It's an utterly foreign feeling, one he'd never felt before, and its perhaps the _newness_ of it all that keeps him  _pliant._ The drink, _the drink, its all the moonshine's fault._

Excuses, _excuses, excuses-_

 

" Hey, quit it- _stop-_ I'm not- I'm not doing this with you- "

" _Why not?_ "

 

The question rings like a gunshot through the mountains in his ears, blue meeting black as John pulled back a touch to peer up at him through the rings of his eyelashes- _fuck, he looked really pretty-_ with his lips placing a kiss on his breastbone, never stopping his continued fondling of the skin beneath his palms. Feels his own maw drop open, sees the wolf follow the movement with undisguised _hunger_ sparking deep and heady like charcoal smoke in his gaze, and finds he doesn't have an answer at-hand. His head is swimming, _swimming,_ with all the reasons and yet, it's like trying to capture clouds in his hands. Can't get a good grip on _any of them,_ watching them float around just out of his reach, out of his _comprehension,_ and the lapse allows John to get a sharp _dig_ into one of the peaked nipples against him, callouses rubbing  _sensitive_ and it tosses Arthur into reality,

 

" F- the _hell do you mean "why not"!_ There... plenty a reasons why _not._ You're not- I'm not- whatever this is, it's just because you're _drunk_ and _lonely_ and looking for somethin' _easy._ I just happen to be here. I ain't- you don't like me this way, _Marston._ Stay paddin' after Abigail, and leave me alone. "

 

It wasn't hard to deny the way the younger had found an interest in one of their newest recruits- then again, Abigail was a prostitute, so most of the men did. But John's seemed to come from a _better place,_ a more _genuine place,_ and that's what sets a chill back into Arthur's skin when he merely furrows his brows, like he has no idea what the cowboy is talking about. Its obvious, it's _obvious,_ that the stag would always be the _fool._ The wolf an idiot, but the stag... nothing but an utter, broken _fool_ that refused to learn its lesson. Forces his gaze to remain _steady_ when John slow, _slowly,_ leaned up to look him straight-on, their noses brushing with every _breath-_

 

" Really? You think that's what this is? "

 

His voice has that characteristic _irritation_ laden in the raspy gravel, muttering low in his chest in that way he always did when he and Arthur butt heads- which was _often._ Enough the cowboy could replicate the sound in his own head, in his _sleep_ (he did, actually, but he wasn't inclined to admit that). But John is so much... _quieter._ Steadier, in a way that takes the older off-guard, makes him feel like a carpet has been pulled out from under his feet and he's stuck in the moment of _slipping,_ of _falling._ Tries to speak through the mouthful of cotton on his tongue when the wolf rasps a kiss onto his cheekbone, voice a murmur against his skin,

 

" You really think I'm that _stupid?_ "

 

Something about the question jerks in Arthur's heart and he barks, loud and  _deprecating,_

 

" I don't think, I _know_ you're an idiot _._ Now get _off._ You don't want me. Come tomorrow, you're gonna forget all of this ever happened. "

 

John doesn't move.

_Goddamnit._

 

" You think I don't _notice_ the way you stare? How you _look at me?_ You really going to pretend you haven't noticed _me_ staring right back? Talk 'bout Abigail all you want, but she ain't who _I want._ Maybe for a fun night, _sure,_ that's what we _all do._ But you? Oh, _you._ "

 

There is a _purr_ to the man's voice that Arthur doesn't recognize- sets his hackles rising, whether in defense or arousal he can no longer tell, it all mixes together so _perfectly-_ Fingers trace his parted lips and he has to fight to rise of instinct to kiss the padded tips as they thumb him open, baring his teeth,

 

" Not you. You ain't just a _quick fuck,_ Arthur. You're... a lot more than that, you know that! You know that I... that I feel  _somethin' more_ for you! And we both ain't no good with words, but we don't _gotta be._ I ain't even _drunk, Arthur,_ don't you dare use that as an excuse to try to get away from me cause it ain't gonna _work._ I'm here for _you_ and only _you_ and the only idiot between us is _you_ for thinkin' you _don't deserve it._ "

 

What started soft ended in a panting tirade, voice bouncing off their stony campsite as his voice rose and rose, angered and frustrated like John always seemed to be. Like he was too big for his own _skin_ and even the smallest of things set him off- and _this_ was a John that Arthur knew how to deal with. But he'd never heard these words before, these emotions, and all he can do is _stare_ as burning, flaming eyes capture him in an embrace. Fingers had tightened in his biceps, shaking him roughly once- twice- before he's being hauled forward and John is so close that when he speaks, their lips brush on every syllable,

 

" So just... just _stop fuckin' thinkin' so much._ And just let yourself have this. Let _me_ in. Let us _both_ have what we want. Cause I want you, Arthur. More... more than _anyone_ I've ever met, for a long time, and it ain't changin' now. "

 

What can he even say to that? Try to deluge all the other worries he had to the man? Wanted to, _wanted to,_ but there are warm, comforting lips pressed against his again and he just  _can't._ Can't spit the words out, can't push John away, and he resigns himself to the fate he's always wanted and yet had felt so _guilty for it,_ had felt like he'd _never deserved it._ And the fact that the wolf could pick up on it _so easily..._ well, Arthur had some refining to do on his poker-face. He'd never been very good at cards, anyway. And it feels wrong, _terrible,_ when John pushes a thumb into the side of his cheek and pries his jaw apart, pliant and _dominating_ in a way he isn't used to seeing. Feels that same tongue that had been tracing his skin now worming its way into his mouth, rubbing hard and fierce against his, and all he can taste is cigarette smoke and alcohol and _John.  
_  
It's a good taste and Arthur's fingers _throb_ at the tips when he grabs hard onto the younger's hips, swallowing down the startled growl the man made as he digs in _deep,_ pressing impressive bruises against the hipbones- drags nails teasingly up the clenching abdomen beneath his palms. _Relishes_ in the way John responds to it like its a _challenge,_ like its a _fight,_ and the larger of the two is pushed roughly to the ground, thankfully landing on the blanket they'd shared. Stares, _daring and dark,_ up at the fire-laden silhouette hovering over his body. _Loves_ the new expression he's garnered on the wolf's face, visage drawn tight and _hot,_ pink lips swollen and gasping and teeth just barely _hinting,_ eyelashes a thick liner around the dark of his eyes. Danced, _danced_ in the light, and Arthur so terribly wished to draw it- decided he would later, when he's promptly pounced on and _devoured._

Lips and teeth ripple down his body, pressing bruises like punches into his skin, prompting him to jerk and shiver and _growl_ against the ground, back arching when John's teeth catch on one of his hipbones and _tugs. It all burns,_ burns _-  
_

 

_makes everything feel right again_

  
Arthur lets John settle between his open legs only to drag his calloused fingers down the other's back, nails making red flowers bloom across the skin, and feels his mouth twitch with a _grin_ at the soft noise he makes. _Oh,_ not so _tough now,_ are you? It seemed to amuse the older outlaw, curving his back just to force one of John's movements to push them intimately together at the waist. Just to feel the wolf  _stutter,_ a break in his bravado in the whispered _whimper_ he burrs into Arthur's throat where his lips had been painting him purple. 

 

" A lil' _hot, Marston?_ Might wanna take some of those clothes off if ya' need to cool off. "

 

It is a wonder how the man can keep his voice so steady, so nonchalant, even as arousal shivers through his spine as John rocked his hips down to meet him. Feels the _drag_ of their bodies, only the thin, dampened cloth of their union suits keeping them apart- can _feel it,_ can feel the wolf harden against his own erection. Solid and hot, and it is entirely new and yet _not._ Feels familiar, in some way, like two bodies that had forgotten one another and had been found again. But it didn't curb Arthur's need to _bite_ and _combat,_ and it certainly didn't soothe John's willingness to _fight_ and to _growl_ like the feral, untamed creature that he was. 

With a stiff _snarl,_ John pulled back on his knees to reach for Arthur's union suit, claws rippling into the thin cotton, completely at the mercy of the wolf's _good graces- hey-_ don't you _dare-_

With a fell movement, the cowboy had ripped it off of the blonde's legs, tossing it with threads torn and frayed to the side, and allowed him not a single moment to _breathe._ Left him naked and yet feeling even hotter, even _tenser,_ like every layer pulled off of him wrapped him another blanket of _heat_ he couldn't get away from- didn't _want_ to get away from _._ Simply descended on him again, pressing _bites_ into the sun-tanned skin, tracing the freckles with his lips, dragging callouses in mesmerizing, deepening circles that had the stag twitching and arching without his control- _damn-_ since when had John been like _this?_ All confident- and a total _tease._ No, no, Arthur couldn't, _wouldn't,_ have that, not here. He wouldn't lose himself and his control, not now, not _ever,_ not with this wily little _raccoon-_

Tangled his fingers, rough and deep, into John's hair and _pulled,_ dragging his head away from the heaving body and flushed skin beneath his lips, and in an instant was pressed back into an obedient _sit._ Well, obedient being a debatable term, but Arthur could certainly work with a _fight,_ after all. Wrapped fingers around the younger's biceps, kept him settled despite his struggling, and began lavishing him tenfold- lips following the curve of patchy stubble, teeth nibbling into cartilage, _marking up_ the man's chest with bites shaped like his mouth. Lapped into the divots of the abdomen tensing in front of his eyes, blue watching the way the muscles _twitched_ like a wary rabbit's foot, murmuring rough and heady against the sensitive hairs just above the top of John's union suit-

 

" I _said_ ya' should take some clothes off. "

 

Threw a  _challenging_ look up at the other, just to watch him glower and glare down at Arthur with brows draw erotically, pinked lips panting softly, as teeth _just glinted_ with the glow of their dwindling fire long forgotten-

 

" Make me. "

 

Oh, _no._ That isn't how this is going to work, _Marston._

 

_makes your thoughts fill with the rarest of treasures_

 

The cowboy tilted his head in that debilitatingly handsome way, twin storms brewing in his gaze as scarred shoulders gave gentle _shrug,_ feeling John's gaze follow the flex of his strong, well-worked muscles along his shoulder blades in the motion. Mouthed lower, _lower,_ bending the younger back so he was forced to throw his arms out behind him to keep from falling flat completely, knees bent against the hardened floor- didn't seem to bother him, not with Arthur's mouth _inching, inching..._

Sucked in a ragged breath when _lips_ pressed against the head of his cock through the cotton, tracing the length of it pressed hard and hot against the cloth. Twitched, _twitched,_ only to growl darkly at how the older's larger, stronger palms held his hips in place, effectively rendering him unable to twist the way he wanted. He couldn't, couldn't _move,_ could hardly _breathe,_ when Arthur's _tongue_ pressed against him, lavishing dark, wet spots against the red. Slow, _too slow,_ teasing, and John can't believe the man is doing this to him. Was working him up, _up, up,_ and he's in _pain_ at how hot he is, how terribly hard he's aching, and how Arthur is doing nothing but _making it worse._

_Shoulda' known._

Knew exactly what the man wanted to hear- desperate _not_ to say it. How could he give the satisfaction? Oh, but the stag looked so _pretty_ down there, pressed against the ground, long back glinting with hints of sweat in the rolls of his muscles. An entrancing sight that John is honestly overwhelmed by, can't _deny_ the _look_ Arthur sent up through blonde lashes up at him just as his tongue thumbed into the younger's slit through the cloth. Kept him edged, _wanting,_ and the stag _smiled_ full of teeth when he felt the other sag with a heaving sigh above him, feeling a gentle kiss pressed between his shoulder blades as muttered words filtered into his hair,

 

" ... Alright, alright. _Please._ "

 

Something about his tone seemed to make Arthur take pity on him- he looked so _good_ like this, how could he not? Helpless to do anything but follow the fall of large fingers across his body, teasing into his suit and refusing to continue until he whined something soft and quiet in the back of his throat. Whispered relief into the air as the man dragged the rest of his clothes off, watching him scramble to toss them away, amusement a glint across the stag's face at his rushing. Falls back _easy_ and _confident_ when John mumbled something about him being a _bastard,_ lining them up again- and, _oh,_ how that felt _good._ John was a wild creature, too fast and too hard, but Arthur would be damned if it didn't feel _good._ Felt _damn good_ when their cocks, both leaking, rubbed ragged into one another, wringing quiet, masculine noises from their lips where they'd pressed together again with hints of teeth and _tongue.  
_  
It burns, _burns,_ as their sweat mingles with every twitch of the hips, moans filtering into the air, pained and suffering and _aroused_ and it isn't enough, not for them-

 

" Damnit,  _touch me._ "

 

Arthur's fingers brand into the younger's skin, drags his hips _down and holds,_ keeping their erections pressed slick and throbbing against one another, hard enough he can feel every twitch of the veins lining the other's cock. Pulse, _pulse, pulse,_ just like the beat of his heart in the flush swarming his head, leaking blood down his chest, lighting him on _fire._ In all of his confidence, his _demands,_ he is damn well sure that John owns his ass  _completely_ at the moment the man looked down at him with pure, molten _gold_ flickering in his eyes and he gives a wanton _moan_ at the instruction. _Fuck,_ Arthur's heart is five seconds from beating right out of his ribcage, the hummingbird crashing against the scaffolding of his ribs and leaving _burning feathers_ behind.

_Scowls_ at the quiet laugh that spills over his forehead when John leans down, pressing lips to him, and a hand is wrapped around them both. Callouses tug, _tug,_ and it has them both _shivering_ and shuddering where their muscles were pressed together, hipbones balanced precariously and borderline painful and yet neither one had any inclination to _pull away._

Not this time.

Not when this was possibly the one and only moment they'd have like this- to Arthur's mind, forever the anxious worrier.

 

_makes you willing to die just to make your sweetheart happy_

 

God, they're _so hard,_ and it's like two bulls meeting heady and hot in a fit of fiery passion, lips pressing bites on every breath, nails running _rivulets,_ as Arthur demanded  _harder, harder, Marston._ And for every instance the other sped up, obeyed so _readily,_ he felt as though there was a _catch._ John was hardly ever so  _complacent,_ so openly _erotic_ in the way he thrust into his own hand and mouthed at the larger's chin beneath him, mumbling and muttering his name in a way that made his veins melt under his skin-

What was the catch?

_What was the trick?_

Found out soon enough when he felt the heat pooling in his stomach begin to _throb_ alongside the jerks of his abdomen, rolling his hips up against the other's. Crashing throbs, messy and wild just like it would be for the two of them, and he is _so close, so close-_ Desperate for it, more than he wanted to admit. Wanted _everything_ John had to give him, wanted _all of it,_ to try to fill some part of the guilt that undercurrented the pleasure he was given so _freely._ Still felt terrible, felt _wrong,_ but he couldn't stop and he didn't have it in him to try to push the man away again. _Not again._ Not this time, no, so he reached for it, _reached for it._ Curled fingers into John's shoulders, pulling them together from chest to knee, sliding hot and sticky against each other-

Heard both of their moans begin to break and shatter, hiccuping quiet in the hitches of their voices, their breaths stuttering into one another's mouths where they were pressed. And Arthur damn near jumped out of his _skin_ when the hand that had been raking scratch marks into a flank moved down, _down,_ and suddenly nimble, thin fingers were pressed in the space right behind his balls. He went stock-still, feeling his lungs _pause,_ as the new sensation becomes incredibly, painfully stimulating all at once- fuck, why had he never tried this before? Tried to push like this, push his own body to its limits that he was so quickly approaching. Felt the callouses rub hard, _hard,_ into the sensitive-skinned space, rising a different kind of pleasant _tingle_ in his lower abdomen, sparking down the length of his legs until they twitched where they were pressed against John.

So close, _close, so close-_

_Stopped._

That desperate tilt over the edge was stalled, abrupt and _sensitive,_ but the stimulation _never stopped_ and Arthur's befallen eyes snapped open, wild and searching, for where John was. Found said man staring down at him with a heart-stoppingly _erotic_ look over his face, gaze half-lidded and black-burnt where they stared to drink in every one of the stag's expressions beneath him, mouth curved in a sly little _smirk. Suspicious._ And when Arthur managed to squirm enough to haggle a look _down,_ he found the wolf's fingers wrapped tight, _too tight,_ in a stoppered ring at the base of his cock. His hips never stopped dragging, _dragging_ them together, but the hand that had been working him over now  _plugged him,_ stopped the rise.

 

" What... what the _fuck, Marston?_ "

 

Damn, his voice sounded a hell of a lot more breathy and whiny than he'd intended, and he could tell John noticed in the way his brows furrowed and he near _whimpered_ in response. Teeth glinted in the smile hovering over him, reminded him so very painfully of a _wolf's_ canines showing him up, preparing to _devour him,_ as John leaned down to growl against his lips,

 

" Call me... call me _John,_ and I'll let go. "

 

_What._

 

" Like hell. Let go of me, let go- "

 

Felt his own throat close traitorous and hard when the ring _tightened_ and John's hips dug in _deep,_ cocks rubbing slick together as the fingers pressed beneath his balls fondled _harder._ Jerky movements, steady and _thick,_ and it brought to mind such an image of being _fucked_ that Arthur found himself immobilized. Couldn't get out, couldn't, even as he began to struggle in earnest to throw the other off. He'd been caught off-guard, far too out of it to properly _fight,_ and he breathed a frustrated groan when he realized that this had been what John had been planning the whole time. _The whole time._ A goddamn _bastard, an idiot, stupid motherfucker-_

 

" Say it. "

 

Harder, _harder,_ and Arthur feels his orgasm simmering beneath his own skin, branding and burning him from the inside out. It's _painful_ and he can't bring in enough air like this, head thrashing from side to side in his desperation and yet, John remained firm and strong and _unrelenting._ Never stopped, never showed an _inch_ of mercy, and Arthur mused that he'd taught the younger too well. Taught him too well how to be a _criminal._ Damn himself and his own good intentions to help raise a good outlaw like Dutch and Hosea had done to him- had never expected his own teachings to be turned _against him,_ and in a position like _this._

 

" Mm...you goddamn... fuckin' _asshole._ "

 

The term seemed to perk the wolf's ears, like he'd heard something he liked, and the fingers driving him mad with their presses suddenly _shifted._ Rolled against his rim, startling him into gasping into a kiss that John laid heavy and thick against his lips, and an entire hand's worth of fingers were fondling him from balls to entrance. Throbbing, rubbing, dry in a way that was almost painful but it made everything _that much more sensitive._ His cock was _so hard,_ throbbing red and purple between them, and it jerked with every few moments of pleasure that was wracking his body, _drowning him-  
_  
_Even worse_ was when John's hips stuttered, groaning low and deep in his throat, eyes riveted upon Arthur's torn, ragged expression as the wolf had its fill of its own worth. And the stag could do nothing but fall open, restless and _wanting,_ as John's cum roped up their abdomens, branding a _heat mark_ into Arthur's skin that he would never be able to get rid of. Not for as long as he lived. Those _eyes_ burrowing beneath him, into his _body,_ and all he can do is smart a pathetic whimper at the sensation of the wolf's muscles trembling against his own.

Hurts, _hurts-_

 

" Arthur... I know you can ask... _nicer than that. Just say it._ "

 

Fingers moving, _moving again,_ rippling along his flesh and he can't break free from the tight ring still wrapped around him. Can feel his own stomach _throb_ and _pulse_ with an orgasm that was _there_ but wasn't. It was _breaking_ and yet, felt _so horribly good,_ that all he can manage is an arch to his back and a fall of his head to the floor, entire body tensed and tight, coiled like a spring, like a finger pressed a threat against a trigger.

More, _more-  
_  
_Goddamnit._

 

_and it makes you do anything they ask because if they're happy, so are you._

 

" _Unh-_ hff- _f-fuck... John._ John, I-... really, _please-_ "

 

He's not sure why it's such a relief to _give in._ To simply do what was asked- perhaps he already knew why. Because he _wanted to do it,_ even before it'd been requested of him. Had already wanted to _please,_ just had to make it _difficult,_ because he thought that's what he needed to do. He was Arthur Morgan, he had to be _fighting,_ it was what he was built for, was trained for, would die for. But here, now, his giving up felt nothing but _good._ Especially when John's breath hitched in his throat, whining softly, as he leaned down and pressed feverish kisses and praise into the stag's lips and face. The ring _fell slack,_ and then tightened again, hot palm stroking him from root to tip just as knuckles pressed hard, unrelenting circles beneath his balls, brushing against his asshole, and everything _broke-_

_Shattered_ into a million pieces as his body shuddered so hard he almost felt the stones beneath them _crack_ with the weight of it, unable to do much other than _feel it._ Feel the heat throbbing under his skin _burst_ like a dam, maw opened in a silent scream as he was praised through it, words murmured quiet and sweet into his skin as every muscle in his body _seized-_

 

" Oh, that's good, that's good Arthur, love, _very good._ "

 

_Fuck,_ the praise just seemed to make it _longer,_ every part of his body aching with his release that poured over them both, splattering thick and hot between them. Allowed John to help him down with gentler kisses, soft coaxing, down back from the clouds where he'd been catapulted so far beyond he felt as though he was amongst the stars. Shivering with it, all the _sensation,_ as fingers stroked down his body in soothing pets, relaxing his muscles into relaxation and _satiation._ A long time since Arthur had felt that way- _a damn long time,_ and he in equal parts can't believe and can absolutely believe that it was _John_ who had brought him to its embrace of warm fog and haze.

It's quiet in the aftermath, breaths slowly coming back into something more sustainable, cum drying against their stomachs that were still pressed together, brushing with every inhale. Felt oddly _comforting_ and Arthur managed only a half-hearted mumble that the other was _heavy_ and to _give him his space back_ , ears burning red when his words were mimicked back to him in teasing lilt. Decided a jab to the flank was exactly what John needed to kick him back into submission- pleased when he groaned quietly and shuffled slow to the side, collapsing useless and still quite entangled with Arthur. And they lay there, lax and soft, to listen to the rain shivering outside and the minute crackle of the fire that was almost _out._

The stag didn't comment on the way John's hands came up to his spine when he struggled to sit up, as though to steady him. Allows the touch and the understanding that he _was doing such_ seemed to run an undercurrent between them, enough that the younger slowly sat up after him. Pressed a featherlight kiss to a sun-freckled shoulder, _testing_ , with a hesitation that was uncharacteristic for the lanky essence of a _troublemaker,_ compared to what _they'd just done._ And it pulls, _pulls_ on Arthur's heartstrings and after a moment of consideration, he turned his head to meet the other's lips in a sweet, gentle kiss.

Soft, _soft._ And, somehow, he liked that even better than the heady, hot pleasure they'd had.

What a damn  _bleedin' heart_ he had for the idiot.

 

" You alright? "

 

The question almost catches him off-guard, looking to meet dark eyes peering at him through the stranded locks of dried hair fallen in the furrowed visage, looking perhaps _worried,_ and Arthur is caught up in how young he looks in that moment. Looking for _approval._

 

" 'Course. You? "

 

It wrings him a small smile, gains him fingertips to trace the ridge of his cheekbone- _swatted away,_ and the confused look is met with a muttered grumble that sounds _shy,_ and Arthur can't meet his gaze when he speaks,

 

" Go... wipe your hand off first, damnit. "

 

Ah, now _that_ was not the right thing to say. Gave John an easy, _easy in,_ with the way his gaze positively lit up in mischief right before his eyes and hands knock into his face, patting and petting at him like an annoying cat swatting. They grumble and laugh until Arthur gets a bite on the other's index finger, just to hear him _yelp_ and recoil, sneering right back at one another. It's... lacking heat of any kind. It's playful, felt _familiar,_ felt _good,_ when John rolled away from him still as naked as the day he was born to shuffle into his satchel. Pulled out some kind of cloth not a moment later and returned, briskly rubbing off his own fingertips as he ran it down the length of Arthur's abdomen. Relished in the _purr_ the man gave at the easy handling, at being _taken care of,_ and the wolf didn't mind reminding him of his worth as he wiped them both clean,

 

" Should do that more often, you looked real damn pretty, all spread out an _beggin'_ \- "

 

Gets shut up by a cuff to the back of his head by a large paw, a dark grumble murmured into their cave,

 

" Oh, _be quiet, John._ Dumbass... "

 

As Arthur trailed off into bad-tempered mumbles, the younger kept the curl of his own smile to himself at the fact that _Marston_ had not been his tagline. Threw the rag away with hardly a glance, drawing the larger into his arms again- _pleased_ when the cowboy went down easy. Allowed himself to be leaned up against a thinner, narrower chest, relaxing against the curve of the stones and watched as the rest of their fire dwindled down to embers together. It was warm enough with them both now, with the tempest slowly subsiding outside, and the blanket that Arthur pulled back over them both. Felt _good._ Felt _nice._ And they both watched as their fingers fiddled together, playing with the lines and curves of one another's palms, idle and quiet. Quiet until John spoke again, lips pressed into Arthur's hair,

 

" I mean't what I said, you know. Know you think of me as just an idiot, that I don't know what I'm talkin' about. But I do. I may not know some things, but I know you. And I know what I feel for you is _real,_ as anything else. An' I'm not going anywhere, Arthur. You deserve to be... _happy._ I know we're outlaws an' criminals but _still._ Don't mean you don't _deserve it._ And you _do,_ even when you think you don't. I'm not going to forget this. I don't _want_ to. I want _you,_ always. "

 

Ah, shit, what is Arthur supposed to say to that? All his flimsy excuses seem to evaporate on his tongue before they can even struggle out of his throat, before he can even conjure a noise. Because everything John said he knows to be _true._ Knows they weren't drunk enough for it to be a whim, knew that they were both aware enough of what was being said, knew that what _was_ said was _out of sincerity._ And part of that _hurts,_ but most of it just feels _good._ And Arthur almost, _almost_ feels selfish and greedy for it if it weren't for John's fingers stroking his cheekbone again, beckoning his head to turn so they could meet eye-to-eye. Rested their foreheads together, languid and drawing strength, as the stag managed to stumble into something that made some semblance of sense.

 

" I... okay. I don't want to forget this either. I've... hmm. I've felt more for you for a while now, John. Just thought it would be better not to tell you. Thought I didn't deserve it. But... 'spose this ain't so bad. "

 

It all just makes John _grin,_ nuzzling into the older's face as he pealed through his smile,

 

" Oh? Finally see what you've been  _missin' out on, huh?_ "

 

That earned him a bite to the lip and a growl, laughter bouncing off the walls at the gesture, and Arthur wishes he had his hat so he could hide his own smirk beneath its comforting bow. Instead, he was content to watch the wolf's face light up in a grin full of teeth, pressing them warm and happy together, comfort lapsed together and falling quiet again, delighting in one another's company.

_Felt good. Felt right._

 

" Hey, Arthur. Ya' know, I wasn't going for that bear for a pelt for _me._ Was gettin' it for you- you keep givin' all your blankets away to everybody else. I ain't about to give up, especially if it ends like it did today, so... come out with me again tomorrow. "

 

The smile, _the smile,_ and all Arthur can do is hang his head and sigh deeply with such an affection it makes John _purr_ ,

 

" Damnit, John... alright. "

...

 

If Arthur and John return back to camp just a little _disheveled,_ lips suspiciously red and eyes a little foggy for a pair just returning from being lost in a rainstorm after being chased up a cliffside by a bear, no one said anything. It was just them, settling back in after receiving an earful from Ms. Grimshaw and disapproving glares from Hosea and Dutch (though all three expressed their own way of gratefulness for having their two collective sons back), and it felt like home. Felt like a _family,_ to be scolded for such a thing, and it made their hurts burn quiet and bright and warm.

And if their fingers intertwined like a promise where they were both settled on the thick wood of one of the wagons, languid and tired and left to rest after their ordeal, alone and together, no one said anything about that either.


End file.
